


Science, Actually

by orphan_account



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: A thousand years later, As you do, F/M, Fitzsimmons Secret Valentine, Non-SHIELD AU, just two scientists being fluffy at a conference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 21:28:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10930383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jemma Simmons has been trying to meet Leo Fitz at the same conference every year for as long as she can remember, but they always seem to pass like ships in the night. Finally, a stroke of dumb luck brings them together.With the help of a friendly bartender and her best friend, this is a conference she'll never forget.A very, very belated FitzSimmons Secret Valentine gift for the magnificent eclecticmuses





	Science, Actually

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EclecticMuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EclecticMuse/gifts).



> Months and months later, my FS Secret Valentine for the fabulous eclecticmuses is FINALLY done. I can't thank her enough for her patience throughout this process. 
> 
> Writing hasn't come as easily to me as it used to, in the last few months, but hopefully this fluffy little bit of fun is still satisfactory anyway :)

“I think we should see Bruce Banner’s presentation in the first session,” Bobbi suggests over pastries. Jemma looks down at the schedule and nods in agreement.

 

“It certainly looks the most compelling,” she says. “And second session will be—“

 

“Leo Fitz, obviously,” Bobbi says with a teasing grin.

 

Jemma refuses to look up, staring down at the sheet in front of her as though it holds all of the universe’s secrets. This is the sixth consecutive conference that she and Leo Fitz have both presented at. Ever since she saw his first lecture on polycarbon fibers and their affect on powered people, she’d been rather taken with him. First it had been because of his mind—she had never heard anyone speak more brilliantly, not even Tony Stark. By the third time she’d seen him speak, she had moved on from his dazzling intelligence. It had been hard not to notice his well-fitted slacks and the way his navy blue button down seemed to bring out the perfect shade of blue in his eyes.

 

“Well, his latest work on androids _is_ fascinating,” Jemma concedes.

 

Bobbi scoffs. “It’s like you’ve never seen a robot movie.”

 

“Not all robots—“

 

Bobbi holds up a hand tiredly. “We are _not_ having the not all robots conversation again.”

 

“If you’ll come with me to see Dr. Fitz, I’ll go with you to the Tony Stark weaponry presentation tonight,” Jemma offers hopefully.

 

Bobbi shimmies happily and holds out a hand. “Deal. Are you feeling ready for your presentation tomorrow?”

 

“Of course,” Jemma says confidently. “My research on dendrotoxins is airtight. Even Dr. Vaughn won’t be able to throw anything at me that I can’t handle.”

 

“God that guy is the worst.”

 

Jemma hums in agreement. “I have five back-up USB drives with my slides on them. I’m ready for any mishaps.”

 

“Weirdo,” Bobbi teases.

 

“I excel at preparation!” Jemma exclaims indignantly. “Which you should be thanking me for, Miss I Forgot To Bring A Toothbrush.”

 

Bobbi shuffles her schedule around. “We’re going to miss the first session if we don’t hurry.”

 

Jemma’s eyes widen as she looks down at her watch. “Oh no! We’ve got to go!”

 

They both stand, grabbing their paper cups of coffee and tea, and rush toward the location of the first presentation. In the milling crowd of scientists, Jemma doesn’t even notice Leo Fitz walk right past her.

 

***

 

“Are you coming?” Daisy asks, nodding her head toward the ballroom door. “It’s about to start.”

 

Fitz swallows hard, shaking his head and trying to compose himself. “I’m ah, gonna work on my presentation.”

 

Daisy scoffs. “Oh come on, Fitz, you could probably do this in your sleep.”

 

“I really couldn’t.”

 

She arches one eyebrow, unconvinced. “I literally heard you do it in your sleep on the flight.”

 

“Yeah well, it’s got to be perfect.”

 

Daisy grins sarcastically. “ _Obviously_ that’s got nothing to do with Dr. Dr. Jemma Simmons being at this conference.”

 

Fitz colors, looking away from his research assistant. She’s a computer science graduate student at his university, but she had somehow talked him into hiring her over the actual engineering students.

 

“Why did I hire you again?”

 

“I keep you young,” she quips easily. “I’m gonna check out this presentation, alright? I’ll see you before your session.”

 

He swallows hard and nods, stomach twisting into knots at the thought of his own presentation. He knows it backwards and forwards. This research has been his life for months—years, really, before he got started—and of course he knows it’ll be just fine.

 

But Jemma Simmons, renowned biochemist, is here, according to his program. She’ll be presenting tomorrow, and she just so happens to be the most well-spoken, brilliant, intelligent person he’s ever been in the same room with.

 

Not that he’s actually met her. Every time he’s gotten up the guts, one of them has been whisked away by some publisher or doctor or university president. Just six months ago at the SHIELD Innovations in Science Conference, he had gotten so very close.

 

That time, there had been no interruptions, other than his rabbit heart beating too quickly in his chest, sending him scampering off before Daisy could stop him. She had gone up and shaken Dr. Simmons’s hand, but he had bolted for the door.

 

He has a new resolve this time, both because of Daisy’s relentless teasing and because there’s been five entire years of almosts and maybes. He’s sick of it, and he’s determined to put a stop to it at this conference.

 

Shaking himself, he pulls his presentation notes out of his breast pocket. He can think about Jemma Simmons later. It’s time to focus.

 

***

 

“I can’t believe we’re here an hour early,” Bobbi complains as she and Jemma sit down, front and center, in the room where Leo Fitz will be presenting. “We’re missing out on some of the best snacks of the weekend.”

 

“No one made you come,” Jemma sniffs, staring straight ahead at the empty stage.

 

“You _literally_ did,” Bobbi reminds her.

 

“Yes well, feel free to go get your snacks now,” Jemma says. “I’ll be fine here on my own.”

 

“In your perfect seat with the perfect view,” Bobbi laughs. “Alright, do you want anything? Water? A chill pill?”

 

Jemma glares at her, causing Bobbi to smile even wider. “No. I’m perfectly fine.”

 

Bobbi heads out of the empty room, the door closing with an echo behind her. Jemma sighs, settling into her seat and pulling out a dog-eared copy of the latest journal Leo Fitz was published in.

 

The article, predictably, is fantastic, and she’s read it a nearly embarrassing amount of times. She wants to make sure she’s prepared for the Q and A portion. Maybe, just maybe, she’ll get up the guts to raise her hand and ask him something. Of course, it’ll need to be a positively brilliant question. She’s been trying to think of one since her flight yesterday, to no avail. None of them have been challenging enough. The last thing she wants is for Leo Fitz to think she doesn’t understand his work.

 

She’s so engrossed in re-reading, she doesn’t notice Leo Fitz himself walking onto the empty stage. He freezes when he sees her, her brow furrowed in concentration.

 

He clears his throat, shoving his hands nervously into his pockets. “Dr. Simmons.”

 

She looks up, startled, and immediately turns pink. The journal falls to the ground and she doesn’t even bother trying to pick it up.

 

“Dr. Fitz. Hello. I didn’t—I didn’t think you knew me.”

 

He laughs disbelievingly. “Are you kidding? Your latest work on dendrotoxins inspired my new project.”

 

“Really?” she practically gasps. “I’ve been struggling to find a proper application for it—“

 

“Well it’s hard to settle on just one,” he begins. “Not when the possibilities are—“

 

“—simply endless, yes, of course,” she finishes. She grimaces. “Sorry, I have a bad habit of interrupting people.”

 

He laughs warmly, scuffing his shoe against the stage. “I actually do the same thing. It drives my grad assistant mad.”

 

“My friend Bobbi can’t stand it,” Jemma admits with a little smile. “It’s um, it’s nice to finally meet you. We’ve been going to the same conferences for years.”

 

He nods. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve been trying to meet you for a long time.”

 

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

 

He rubs at the back of his neck with one hand. “Well, not in—not in a weird way. Just you know, in an—in an I Admire You kind of way.”

 

Jemma bites back a grin. “Oh, I see. Admiration.”

 

He cringes. “That’s—not totally what I meant. I’m sort of rubbish at this.”

 

She laughs. “I can’t say I’m much better.”

 

He nods at the journal on the floor. “Were you reading my article?”

 

“Oh!” she exclaims, rushing to pick it up before he notices all of her notes and highlights. “Yes. I thought I should be prepared for your presentation.”

 

“It won’t require much background in the subject,” he says. “I don’t expect everyone to have read it.”

 

“Well, it was my first time. Just a glance, really.”

 

The door creaks open and Daisy appears, carrying two paper coffee cups. She stops in her tracks, looking between Jemma and Fitz with wide eyes.

 

“Dr. Dr. Simmons!” she exclaims. “Fitz, look, it’s Dr. Dr. Simmons.”

 

“It’s just one doctor,” Jemma corrects, cheeks pink.

 

“But you have two PhDs,” Daisy says.

 

“Yes, but unfortunately I don’t get credit for that in front of my name.”

 

Daisy scoffs, handing Fitz his coffee. “Well that’s bullshit. You shouldn’t be lumped in with the one PhD scrubs like Dr. Fitzy here.”

 

“Dr. Fitzy?” Jemma repeats with a grin. “What a nice name.”

 

“This is Daisy Johnson, my grad assistant,” Fitz says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Also a royal pain in my ass.”

 

“It must be an honor to work with him,” Jemma says, a bit more eagerly than she’d like. Daisy snorts in response.

 

“Or something. Most of my job is just making sure he doesn’t blow himself up or light anyone else on fire.”

 

“It only happened once,” Fitz interjects.

 

“Twice,” Daisy corrects. “Davis had to use a fire extinguisher on Milton.”

 

“If Milton hadn’t gotten his cabbage head in the way—“

 

“Fitz,” Daisy interrupts, holding up one hand. “Not in front of _company_.”

 

Jemma looks on, bemused by the entire interaction and feeling incredibly glad that she had wanted to come in so early to snag the best seats. “Oh, don’t stop on my account.”

 

“This could go on for hours,” Daisy tells her with a roll of her eyes. “Fitz, I’m gonna go make sure the audio guys have everything mixed right. You two kids have fun.”

 

“I’m older than you!” Fitz calls after her, but Daisy is skipping off and doesn’t seem to care. There’s a beat of silence in her absence. “So uh, you present tomorrow, right?”

 

“Yes,” she says nervously, tucking her hair behind her ears. “I’m presenting at the same time as Dr. Cho, though, so I’m sure the place will be empty.”

 

“No way,” he says, shaking his head in disagreement. “You’re brilliant. Everyone knows that.”

 

The door clatters open again, cutting Jemma off before she can say anything else.

 

“Alright, I got us a bunch of pigs in blankets. Is that how you do the plural of that? Whatever. I just thought you might want to be fueled up before you meet your boy toy in real life—“

 

Bobbi’s ramblings are cut short when she finally looks up. She chokes on her remaining words, the many tiny hot dogs on her plate nearly rolling to the floor.

 

“—I’m Bobbi,” she says lamely, giving Fitz an unsure little smile. “I’m Jemma’s person.”

 

“Person?” he echoes in confusion.

 

“Oh, you know, I come with her to this stuff, I supply her with appetizers, I put my foot in my mouth and make her make that face.”

 

She nods sideways, indicating Jemma’s nearly purple complexion.

 

“Bobbi,” Jemma says, her voice thin. “Shall we go enjoy those small hotdogs outside? Dr. Fitz, I look forward to your presentation.”

 

Bobbi nods quickly, following Jemma’s incredibly fast footsteps up the aisle. Just before they reach the door, Fitz hears Bobbi say one last thing.

 

“For someone with such short legs you sure can haul ass when you want to.”

 

Fitz shakes out his hands, surprised to find that for once, they’re not shaking. Ordinarily, he gets painfully nervous before presentations. He figures if he can meet Jemma Simmons without looking like a total ass, then he can certainly get through a slideshow on his research.

 

***

 

Throughout his presentation, he can’t stop looking down directly at her. It’s probably unsettling, and he knows he should stop, but there’s something about the focused, excited sparkle in her eyes that pumps him up.

 

He paces back and forth, far more energetic than he normally is. During most talks like this, he sometimes bumbles around a bit, struggling to find the right words. Other times, he talks so quickly and so incomprehensibly, there’s practically crickets at the end—no one understood enough to give him feedback or ask any valuable questions.

 

But this time, his pacing is perfectly on point. He cracks a few jokes that have everyone genuinely laughing, and he might just be going crazy, but he swears he can pick out the laughter of Jemma Simmons from the rest of the crowd.

 

Everything flows naturally. The facts and figures ease perfectly into the theory and the potential applications of his findings. It’s the best presentation he’s ever given, and half of what he says wasn’t even on his notecards.

 

Jemma is practically beaming when it’s over. She leaps to her feet, clapping so enthusiastically he can barely see her hands moving.

 

So what if she’s the only one standing? Standing ovations aren’t really a _thing_ at this type of event. Her friend Bobbi looks a little embarrassed for her, tugging lightly at the hem of Jemma’s blouse in an effort to get her to tone it down a little.

 

“I think we have some folks out in the audience handing out mics, so raise your hand if you have any questions you’d like to ask,” the moderator says,

 

Jemma’s hand shoots up eagerly. She’s almost immediately handed a mic, and the moderator points at her.

 

“Hello. I’m Dr. Jemma Simmons.”

 

He can feel the stupid, silly grin on his face, but he can’t stop it.

 

“I was wondering about the potential biological affect that could take place if a human being is sent through the type of portal you’re describing. We see gravity sickness in astronauts, and we haven’t been able to send human beings into certain types of space due to radiation. What concerns are there in terms of the affect on human travel through dimensional portals?”

 

He bites his lip, rocking back and forth as he thinks. “That’s an excellent question, Dr. Simmons. And to be quite honest, it’s not one that I’ve necessarily considered much. It’s a bit out of my wheelhouse, but I’d imagine that there are a lot of the same concerns. To mitigate that, we would need to get a better read on radiation levels, likely by sending through some kind of retrievable device that could read those things for us. I think we’re pretty far from portal transport, but our work on the monolith has been promising. I think those are some excellent considerations for my team to keep in mind as we move forward.”

 

“Perhaps you’ll need a biochemist,” she adds cheekily. He nods, laughing.

 

“I happen to have recently become acquainted with a pretty magnificent one.”

 

“Next question?” the moderator interrupts. Jemma crinkles her nose at him, perhaps the cutest expression he’s ever seen on a human face, and hands her mic back to the man running the panel. She sits back down and he catches her friend give her an enthusiastic thumbs up.

 

He’s forced to focus his attention others asking questions, and he does so grudgingly, sparing an excessive amount of glances back at the first row to gauge Jemma’s reactions to his responses.

 

This isn’t really like him. None of it is—not the chatting before a talk, not the constant staring, not the charisma he’d had during his presentation. Certainly not the flirty comment in front of an entire room of his peers and colleagues.

 

He feels a bit like a fish out of water, but it’s never felt quite so good to be out of his element.

 

***

 

Jemma paces nervously in front of the mirror later that evening, tucking her hair repeatedly behind her ears and shaking it back out. From the bathroom, Bobbi sighs.

 

“You look great, okay? I’m almost ready and then we can head down.”

 

Jemma’s leg bounces nervously. Bobbi really hasn’t been taking all that long to get ready for the scheduled cocktail mixer, but it feels like it’s been ages. She’s entirely too eager to get down to the ballroom and see if she can find Dr. Fitz again. After his presentation, he’d been practically swarmed by scientific admirers. Bobbi had insistently dragged her to the next presentation and she hadn’t had a chance to tell him how much she enjoyed his.

 

And, well, if he happened to see her in the leather leggings Bobbi had insisted she buy—it certainly wouldn’t be awful.

 

“Red lipstick, I see,” Bobbi teases as she exits the bathroom, tossing her lip gloss into a little clutch on the bed. “Should I be getting my own room?”

 

Jemma splutters out an attempt at an excuse. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just happened to think red lipstick would look nice with the jacket I’m wearing—“

 

“It’s your Peggy Carter look,” Bobbi deadpans. “Also known as your head bitch in charge look. You only wear a red lip when you’re determined.”

 

Jemma avoids her eyes. “Peggy Carter was a very accomplished woman. I will take that as a compliment.”

 

“Come on, then,” Bobbi says, offering her arm out. “Let’s go party with some nerds.”

 

“You’re a scientist too.”

 

“For the FBI,” Bobbi reminds her for what feels like the thousandth time. “I’m a _cool_ scientist.”

 

“For someone who’s job involves so much secrecy, you sure do brag about it a lot,” Jemma says, teetering slightly on her stilettos as they walk to the elevator.

 

“Whatever, Teaspoon. Are you going to ask Dr. Fitz out or am I going to have to do it for you?”

 

Jemma feels her cheeks burn red. She nervously tucks her hair behind her ears and avoids Bobbi’s gaze. “I—I don’t—“

 

Bobbi smiles sympathetically. “Look, I promise I won’t embarrass you. All jokes aside. But I am offering up my services as a wingwoman, because I think the two of you could be really good together.”

 

“I live in Cambridge,” Jemma reminds her.

 

“And he lives?”

 

“In New York.”

 

Bobbi grins. “You knew that right off the top of your head. At least talk to him at this thing. See if there’s something there.”

 

“I’m a fan of his work,” Jemma says, attempting to defend herself against the accusation that she has some sort of romantic interest in Leo Fitz.

 

“Of course you are,” Bobbi concedes. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t also be a fan of his face, and I think you are. It’s been a while since you’ve seriously dated anyone—“

 

Jemma opens her mouth to interrupt, but Bobbi beats her to it.

 

“—and while I know that a romantic relationship is not necessary for your happiness and that you are a strong, independent woman…if there’s someone you like, and you could be happy with, then I think it’s a chance worth taking. Even if he lives a train ride away.”

 

The elevator dings, releasing them into the hotel lobby. Bobbi steps out and Jemma follows her, grateful that the conversation about Leo Fitz is over while also ruminating over her friend’s comments. Bobbi is right—she hasn’t dated in a long time and she has a crush on Leo Fitz that isn’t entirely professional. While she’s been perfectly happy on her own, there are some evenings where she wishes she had someone to talk to before she falls asleep, or someone to share a sunny weekend afternoon with.

 

And well, if she’s honest—Leo Fitz would be an _ideal_ candidate. She can picture it—calling him on her way home from the lab, excitedly telling him about her latest breakthrough. And unlike most guys she usually dates, he would actually _understand_. They could take turns taking the train to see each other on the weekends. She wonders if he likes prosciutto—she could make her famous sandwiches for a picnic in the park on a lovely Saturday afternoon—

 

She doesn’t even have time to scold her brain for leaping so far ahead of her. Before she has a chance, she collides directly with Leo Fitz.

 

“Ah,” he says awkwardly, grabbing her around the upper arms to steady her. “Sorry about that.”

 

She smiles almost involuntarily. She catches Bobbi’s eye over his shoulder and Bobbi winks before turning around to head to the bar on her own.

 

“No, it was my fault. I was lost in thought,” Jemma says with a nervous laugh. “Are you, um, headed to the bar? I was going to grab a drink.”

 

He nods eagerly, his head bouncing up and down almost comically. “Yeah. Yeah, I was. Daisy’s decided she’d rather spend her evening at the pool bar with, and I quote, the Normals.”

 

Jemma laughs and follows him as he leads the way to the opposite bar from the one Bobbi is in line at. It’s probably for the best, since Bobbi tends to lead off most of her wingwomaning with the phrase _“Hey, did you know Jemma is excellent at badminton?”_

 

Not usually the skill that Jemma herself would highlight.

 

“How are you enjoying the conference so far?” Jemma asks, fiddling with her hands.

 

“Much better, now that my bit is out of the way,” he answers with a grin. They stop in the line for the bar and he scratches at his neck, an adorable little nervous gesture that clenches something in her stomach.

 

“You were excellent,” she compliments, shifting in her heels that she now sort of regrets wearing. With the way her legs feel, she’s sure she’ll trip. It’s the nervous kind of buzzing that she usually only gets right before something important.

 

For some reason, this cocktail party—talking to Leo Fitz and having a drink—feels _incredibly_ important.

 

“Thanks. I’m not fond of public speaking, usually, but it didn’t feel so bad.”

 

His eyes linger on her, something secret passing between them. She chooses to believe that he’s telling her it was her that made it easier, somehow, despite how ridiculously romantic the entire notion is.

 

She expects him to look away, but he doesn’t—he’s just staring at her face, not saying anything, and her breath quickens self-consciously.

 

“What?” she asks, patting at her hair. “Do I look ridiculous? I don’t usually wear so much makeup or do my hair like—“

 

“No!” he interrupts, his voice a bit too loud. The two men in front of them both glance backward. “You look….great.”

 

He licks his lips nervously and she bites back a smile.

 

“I appreciate that, thank you. So, um, how long have you been living in the States?”

 

She already knows the answer to this—while he’d been getting his PhD at sixteen at MIT, Jemma had been getting her second at Oxford. She knows an embarrassing amount about him, having read up on him so much.

 

“Since I was fourteen, actually. My mum and I moved here together so I could get my PhD. It’s just the two of us and of course she didn’t feel comfortable sending me off on my own.”

 

Jemma smiles warmly at that. Finally, a tidbit of information about the man that she hadn’t been able to learn from his faculty profile. “You two must be close.”

 

He grins fondly. “Yeah, yeah we are. My mum’s great. I might as well be speaking another language when I talk about my work but she humors me, always has. I imagine I wasn’t the easiest child but she did her best.”

 

“So did mine,” Jemma says. “My dad, especially. I had surgery on my back when I was young and my dad would wheel me outside flat on my back to look at the stars. I think he always sort of hoped I would do something in astrophysics, since he loves space so much. But my mum is a doctor so she loved that I was more interested in biology and chemistry.”

 

“Sounds like your dad and I would have a lot to talk about,” he comments just as they reach the bar. He freezes. “I mean, ah, not that I would have any reason to meet your—“

 

“What can I get you?” the bartender asks. Jemma blinks in surprise at his accent.

 

“A fellow Brit!” she says cheerily. Fitz seems incredibly relieved to have been cut off.

 

“Lance Hunter, bartender and jack of all trades. Let me see here,” the bartender says, twirling his hand around and examining Jemma carefully. “A—gin and tonic?”

 

She smiles pleasantly. “Excellent suggestion, sir. Yes please.”

 

“And I’ll have an old fashioned,” Fitz says. “Thanks, mate.”

 

Someone bumps into Jemma as he attempts to shuffle around her in the bar line. She does her best to move out of the way with a little grimace.

 

“These things are always so awkward,” she admits with a guilty look on her face. “I’m not sure if I’m meant to enjoy them but I can never seem to get comfortable.”

 

Fitz’s shoulders relax and he smiles. “I thought I was the only one. All of my colleagues have been excited for all of the cocktail hours and the networking events but it sort of just makes me want to hole up in my room.”

 

The bartender spins around, sliding their drinks to them with a smirk. “I can do you one better.”

 

Jemma glances at Fitz and they exchange a weary but hopeful look. “How so?”

 

“I’ve worked here for a few months now so I know the building pretty well. If you take the elevator to the top floor and then use the stairs at the end of the hall on the right, you can get up on the roof. It’s one of the best skyline views you could ever see.”

 

“We’ll keep that in mind,” Fitz says a bit awkwardly. He shoves some cash into the tip jar and nods at the bartender. “Thanks again.”

 

“If you need anything else come on back,” he says with a little salute.

 

“Thank you, Lance,” Jemma says politely, holding up her drink.

 

He laughs and shakes his head. “Call me Hunter. See you around, don’t get into too much trouble.”

 

With a little wink, he whirls around to the next customers, leaving Jemma and Fitz to shuffle off to the nearest standing table. Almost as soon as they place their drinks down, a group of excitable engineers who had come to Fitz’s session eagerly descend on them. The chatter and questions seem to overwhelm him for a moment, his eyes widening before he blinks and composes himself.

 

Jemma watches, fascinated, as he manages to field multiple questions at once, talking his way around and through all of the potential issues that the other scientists point out regarding his research. With each passing second he seems to grow more and more confident, and despite the fact that she hardly knows him, she feels a wave of pride overcome her.

 

The pride soon fades, though, after nearly fifteen minutes of scientists clamoring for his attention. Her gin and tonic is already drained, having had nothing else to do while a large group of men in bowties pepper him with questions and compliments.

 

More engineers join the throng and it becomes clear that it’s going to be a while before they can resume any kind of meaningful conversation. She holds up her empty drink in his direction with a little smile and he grimaces, shrugging in an apology. She shakes her head understandingly—after all, she’s been there before and she’s sure that after her own talk this weekend, she’ll be there again.

 

The crowd around Hunter’s bar has significantly dissipated, so her wait for another gin and tonic is much shorter. He smoothly grabs her glass and begins refilling it, jerking his head toward Fitz’s table. He can barely be spotted amongst his many new fans.

 

“Your boyfriend is pretty popular.”

 

Her face heats up, flames of embarrassment crawling up her neck. “Oh, no! He’s not my—I don’t even—I hardly know him.”

 

Hunter raises his eyebrows. “Ah, I see. So just a good old fashioned crush then.”

 

That does nothing to quell her blushing. “No! I mean—well—no. No. Absolutely _not_.”

 

“I’ll tell you what,” Hunter says conspiratorially, leaning on the bartop. She leans in closer to hear him as his voice drops. “I’ll give you an entire bottle of booze and send your man up to the roof if you give me the name of the blonde goddess you walked in with.”

 

Jemma splutters. “Bobbi?!”

 

Hunter grins, satisfied. “Must be, yeah. Wow, you made that easy.”

 

Jemma pinches the bridge of her nose, shutting her eyes. “It’s a bad idea. I don’t even know him.”

 

“And you’re never going to get to know him here,” Hunter points out. He waves his hand around at the milling scientists. “Look at all of these people. There’s an endless supply of nerds who want to talk to him. You won’t be able to have a conversation for longer than 20 seconds.”

 

Jemma bites her lip, considering his argument. She has to admit, it _does_ check out. It’s a networking event, and as much as she wants to spend the entire night with him, the rest of the conference-goers won’t let that happen.

 

“Fine,” she says a bit begrudgingly. “I’ll take the bottle.”

 

He winks and passes an entire bottle of whiskey her way. “Now get on up to the roof. As soon as he comes back for a refill, I’ll send him up.”

 

Jemma turns to dash off, the conspicuous bottle of whiskey in her hand setting her on edge. She can’t resist helping out the man who’s clearly set on helping her, though. Turning her face over her shoulder, she offers him a piece of advice.

 

“Bobbi’s a forensic scientist with the FBI,” she says. Hunter’s eyes widen and she continues. “But she’s not all that scary, once you get to know her. Offer to play her in pool, she loves that.”

 

Then she takes off, hurriedly walking toward the elevators. No one seems to pay much attention to her, engrossed as they are in their own conversations with one another. Her heart beats rapidly against her rib cage as she steps into the elevator and presses the button for the top floor.

 

This isn’t the sort of thing that she does. She can’t even remember the last time she went on a date, nonetheless openly pursued any kind of romantic entanglement with someone.

 

It’s been quite a long time since she found anyone interesting, but Leo Fitz might just be the most interesting person she’s ever met.

 

It’s a terrifying but exciting thought, the sort that makes her stomach twist up and her skin flushed. With shaky legs, she makes her way to the stairwell Hunter had told them about. When she reaches the top, Jemma takes a deep breath and swings open the door.

 

As soon as she steps out onto the rooftop, her breath catches. Hunter wasn’t kidding—the view is truly amazing. The entire city sparkles in the night, the people on the cars on the street as small as ants. She’s never been a big fan of heights, though, so she steps away from the edge and looks around for a place to make herself comfortable.

 

She pulls her phone from her pocket to check the time. 8:22 p.m.

 

She’ll wait until 8:42, she decides. Twenty minutes is plenty of time for Fitz to return to the bar, be told by Hunter where she is, and get to the roof. After that, she’ll return to her hotel room in humiliation.

 

Yes, she thinks. 8:42 p.m. She won’t wait a moment longer than that.

 

***

 

Her knee bounces and she checks her phone yet again. It’s 9:06 p.m. now, far longer than she ever intended on staying up here. It’s a bit chilly and she’s grateful for the fact that she’s wearing a jacket.

 

Her antsy hands reach for the whiskey bottle. She unscrews it and takes a long swig, crinkling her face from the unpleasant burning as it goes down her throat. Whiskey isn’t usually her drink and it’s even worse from straight out of the bottle.

 

This was a bad idea, she thinks. This is the type of silly thing that other people do, people who don’t have two PhDs and a million bigger and better things to worry about than having someone’s hand to hold.

 

She _isn’t_ lonely. No. Of course not.

 

Just as she’s about to throw in the towel and retreat to her room in defeat, the door to the roof swings open.

 

She turns her head to look at him, unable to stop the grin that immediately spreads over her face. He’s bent over, his hands on his hips as he wheezes. The tie around his neck is loosened, a light layer of sweat on his face.

 

“The elevator was taking too long,” he manages to pant. “I uh—I didn’t want—“

 

He pauses, twisting his wrist around as he tries to catch his breath.

 

“I was about to go back,” Jemma admits.

 

He nods eagerly, pointing at her. “Yeah, that. I didn’t want you to do that. Hunter said you’d left a while ago, I wasn’t sure if you’d still be here.”

 

She laughs, holding up the bottle as an offering. “Well, I’m still here. Thirsty?”

 

He nods, making his way across the roof to collapse beside her. His leg presses against her thigh, a welcome heat in the cold night. He reaches for the bottle and takes a long chug from it, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand afterward.

 

“Agh,” he groans. “Don’t try drinking that like water.”

 

“Thank you for the warning,” she laughs. “That was my next plan.”

 

He takes another few moments to catch his breath and Jemma listens to the ragged sound with an increasing flutter in her stomach. She really can’t help the gutter that her mind rolls into.

 

“So,” he finally says, breaking the silence. “Tell me everything.”

 

She barks out a surprised laugh, glancing over to look at him. “Oh, is that it? Just everything, then?”

 

He grins easily, leaning back on his elbows as he looks out at the skyline. “Well sure. We’ve got a whole bottle of whiskey and an amazing view. Nothing but time to kill.”

 

Jemma raises her eyebrows and points at the bottle. “We ought to be careful with that, given that there’s no bathroom up here.”

 

It’s his turn to laugh, his eyes twinkling as he glances over at her again. “Bathroom humor. I wouldn’t have pegged you for it, Doctor Doctor Simmons.”

 

She crinkles her nose up. “I’d like to hope that’s not all you’ll take away from this conversation.”

 

“Well then, sounds like you’ve got to tell me everything.”

 

And somehow, she does. She starts with growing up in Sheffield and how she’d always loved nature. As a girl she had an insatiable curiosity for how the natural world worked and that only grew as she did. Over time, her curiosities and oddities became isolating and she found herself separated from her peer group.

 

Fitz, of course, had similar experiences, and without much prodding he begins to share them. How his single mother tried her best to understand him and how little he seemed to fit in anywhere. All of their stories blend and twist and curl into each other’s. The whiskey bottle only passes between them a few times. There’s hardly time to take drinks of anything due to the speed with which they both speak.

 

There’s a warmth in his eyes as he looks at her. She’s certainly not drunk but that look gives her the courage to reach over and place her hand on his. She holds her breath as he glances down and she swears he breathes in sharply as he turns his hand over to touch hers palm-to-palm.

 

When his fingers intertwine with hers, it just _fits_.

 

“Your hands are like ice buckets,” he teases.

 

She bites her lip and looks away shyly but makes no effort to release him. “Think you can brave it?”

 

When she looks back up, he’s leaning much closer than he had been before. She can see the stubble on his cheeks and a little freckle over his lip and _Oh_ this is going to happen—

 

The door bangs open, and Hunter and Bobbi stumble out. She’s giggling uncharacteristically and the sound startles Jemma.

 

“Bobbi!”

 

“Jemma!” Bobbi exclaims. “We thought you two would be in someone’s room by now.”

 

The blushing resumes.

 

“Yeah, it’s nearly three in the morning,” Hunter adds. “You’ve been up here for ages.”

 

Jemma meets Fitz’s eyes and it feels as though they have a silent conversation.

 

_Shall we leave them alone?_

_Sure. Where should we go?_

_Not sure. I’m not ready to leave yet._

“Well,” Fitz declares, grabbing Jemma’s discarded shoes. He reaches a hand down to her and helps haul her to her feet. “We’ll leave you to it.”

 

“Jemma,” Bobbi whispers altogether too loudly. “Should I be going back to wherever this guy lives? So you can have the room? So you and Fitz can--?”

 

“Bobbi!” Jemma hisses, narrowing her eyes threateningly. “Do whatever you want. And his name is Hunter.”

 

Bobbi smiles happily. “I know. Sometimes I like to pretend I don’t remember their names. It throws them off.”

 

“I heard that!” Hunter calls from near the edge of the rooftop. Bobbi flashes Jemma a grin and dashes off to join him, leaving her and Fitz on their own to descend back into the hotel.

 

“So, uh, this has been really fun,” Fitz mumbles as they walk down the hallway toward the elevators. Her stilettos dangle from his fingertips as they walk.

 

“It has,” Jemma agrees. They stand at the elevators, both staring at the button. Neither of them reaches forward to push it.

 

Pushing that button means they enter the elevator, and choose what floor they’ll be going to—either on their own or together. It feels like some sort of event horizon, an invisible line that they can either cross now and never return from, or let disappear into nothingness.

 

He clears his throat and she jumps slightly.

 

“Shall we?”

 

Jemma nods, her legs going numb with nerves as she finally speaks. “I’m staying with Bobbi. We have a room together.”

 

“Ah.”

 

“Are you—on your own?”

 

“Yeah, yeah I am.”

 

She hums in interest as they wait for the elevator to arrive.

 

“I’m on the sixth floor,” he says. “If um—if you’d maybe want to—keep hanging out.”

 

A smile blooms across her face and she looks shyly at her bare toes. She really wishes she’d gotten a pedicure, now, but she hadn’t really anticipated being barefoot at a science convention.

 

“I’d love that.”

 

His entire body relaxes and as they step into the elevator, he places his hand at the small of her back. The tension and excitement between them is palpable as the door shuts and he presses the button for “6.”

 

When they reach the sixth floor, he keeps his hand on her back and leads the way to Room 616. She notices that his hands are trembling as he gets his room key from his pocket and inserts it into the slot.

 

“You know, this key system is actually pretty unsafe,” he muses. “There are about sixteen different ways off the top of my head to get around this type of electronic lock. What they should really be doing is—“

 

The hotel door shuts behind them as they shuffle in and he clicks on the light. With a confidence she didn’t know she ever possessed, Jemma whirls around and grabs his face, pressing her lips firmly to his. He stumbles back in surprise, back against the door, and for a moment she thinks she’s ruined it all.

 

But then he groans in the back of his throat, his hands grasping at her hips as his lips make their way down her neck, leaving a trail of hot breath and kisses and teeth.

 

It’s utterly heavenly and if she could think of anything at all, she’d be thinking about how startling it is that the most interesting person she’s ever met can also get her going like this.

 

For a long time, she had been under the impression she would have to choose between a man who could keep up with her intellect but who would ultimately lack the kind of physical spark that her friends had always talked about, or she could have the passion and romance with the type of person who glazed over as soon as she started talking about her work.

 

The thought briefly flits through her head that _ah, yes, this is what they’ve all been talking about_ , but it doesn’t stay for long. Firmly but gently, he pushes her back, shuffling her deeper into the hotel room. His hands rest on either side of her neck, his fingers in her hair, and just before she tumbles backward he pulls away from her mouth.

 

“Are you—is this okay?” he whispers. His breath is ragged, just as it had been on the rooftop, and a little zing of pleasure shoots through her from the sound alone.

 

“Yes. Absolutely.”

 

She says it firmly, more certain than she’s been of almost anything else in her life. So when they tumble back onto the bed with nervous laughter and his hips between her legs, she decides to turn off her brain for the first time maybe ever.

 

Because there are too many things to consider—they live in different cities, they both have demanding careers, they’ve only known each other one day—and she simply does not want to consider them.

 

For now, all she wants to focus on is the feeling of his hands inching up her blouse and the taste of him on her lips. It’s not hard to divert her full attention there.

 

Her eyes shut. A breathy moan escapes as his hand cups her breast.

 

The rest can wait.

 

***

 

When Jemma awakes, her head vaguely aches from mixing liquors the night before and she licks her dry lips in an effort to moisten them.

 

She rolls over to find Fitz staring at the ceiling, his arm behind his head and his t-shirt already back on. He’s in pajama pants, and Jemma is certain he didn’t fall asleep in them last night.

 

There had been decidedly less clothing involved when they had finally given in to sleep.

 

He turns to face her when she rustles the sheets and he smiles nervously.

 

“Morning.”

 

“Good morning,” she says, her voice cracking on the words. Her eyes widen. “Oh no. I’ve lost my voice.”

 

“Must have been from all that talking,” he says. “We were up on the roof for hours.”

 

“Yes, the talking,” she says as primly as she can. He smirks.

 

“And, uh, other things too.”

 

“And other things,” she laughs. “I have to give a talk today. My voice will sound so lovely.”

 

“You’re so brilliant I don’t think it really matter what your voice sounds like. People will listen.”

 

Her heart melts. “Fitz—“

 

“I know, I know,” he rushes to say. “We live in different cities and you hardly know me and last night was—“

 

“—one of the best nights of my life,” she finishes, determined to interrupt the negativity of his train of thought. This clearly surprises him. He blinks rapidly.

 

“Really?”

 

“Ugh, Fitz!” she exclaims, reaching over to smack him lightly on the arm. “I thought I made that quite clear after the first two times.”

 

His cheeks turn pink and she smiles in satisfaction. He looks so cute with his rumpled hair and flushed face; soft and warm and happy.

 

“Well, sure, but there are so many things to consider.”

 

She crinkles her nose. “I suppose so. But we’re both actual geniuses. If anyone can figure out how to make this work, don’t you think it would be us?”

 

He finally touches her, reaching out to cup her cheek in his palm. His thumb runs over her cheekbone and her eyes flutter shut in contentment.

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I think it would be. I know most people would think of this as some kind of one night stand, but Jemma, I need you to know—to me, this is—you’re—you’re more than that, Jemma.”

 

Her lips quirk upward. She leans forward to kiss him slowly and sweetly, savoring the way he inhales sharply through his nose.

 

“I feel the same. It’s strange, I’ve only known you one day and I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

 

He chuckles softly and runs his hand down her arm to pull her close around the waist. She curls into the soft cotton of his t-shirt, relishing the way his hands dance lightly up and down her spine.

 

“You’re magnificent.”

 

She breathes out a laugh against his chest and snuggles in deeper. “I’m nervous for my presentation.”

 

“I’ll be right there beside you. The whole damn time.”

 

“Dramatic,” she teases. “But thank you, Fitz.”

 

“So what do we do now?” he asks after a beat. She extracts herself far enough to look at him. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the watercolor sky as the sun makes its first appearance of the day. It’s still early. They have time.

 

“For now, we watch the sunrise,” she says, adjusting to lay with her head on his chest facing the window. He drops a kiss to her forehead, directing his eyes to the view.

 

It took years to meet him, and maybe for a reason. If it had happened any way other than this—well, she simply wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.


End file.
